Waiting
by AkumaStrife
Summary: They have waited their entire life -and will continue to do so- even though they don't know what exactly they are waiting for. But they cling to the one thing they do know: that they don't belong. ::An 'AU, Next Life' Organization-centric fic::


**A/N: This little drabble-like thing was born from a conversation I had a while ago. I can't remember who it was with, or even what the exact focus points were. All I can remember is talking about the organization members being reincarnated, and yet not really coming together(as most fics portray the situation where they slowly meet up and reconnect with each other). So I wanted something where they're not finding each other; not moving on from the past lives they know they've lived. Stumbling blindly on their own.**

**Also real quick: you may notice that I didn't use their "real" names. I thought about doing as so, but then decided against it as these are the nobodies in the next life, not the originals they were created from. Just thought I'd explain that before someone notices and wants to complain about it =)**

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* * *

**

A heavy sigh and the shuffling of papers.

"I hate children," Xemnas states loudly and turns to his vice principle, his confident, sometimes even his friend, "Saix, why did we get into this business? What would possess me to run this godforsaken school?"

The one he is speaking to looks up to meet his gaze, but says nothing. For a fraction of a moment there are unfamiliar emotions surging through the bright eyes: uncertainty and confusion.

"…I…don't know Sir."

And Xemnas sighs again because it's the most truthful thing the other has ever said.

* * *

Xigbar says nothing, eyes betraying nothing, as he pushes the barrel of the gun under the guy's chin –he doesn't really remember his name, just that he cheated- and pulls the trigger.

He doesn't feel a shred of guilt for what he has just done, merely puts away his weapon and toes the body out of his way. He thinks about going through the pockets of the body, but decides he can't be bothered and strolls out of the alleyway and into the night, a forgetful tune on his lips.

He's a man with no past, and also a man with no future.

Be he stopped trying to figure out _why _a long time ago.

* * *

"Welcome home," an airy voice calls from some other room in the house.

Xaldin shouts back a greeting and sets his things down so as to catch the two little bodies suddenly jumping into his arms.

"Welcome home daddy!" they both squeal, giggling as he spins them around.

"I'm home," he smiles back, but slowly his smile fades as he set them down. Suddenly he feels like a stranger here, looking around at all the things that seem unfamiliar now. Like this isn't really his home, this isn't his family. Like it's all a lie, an illusion.

* * *

"Sir, what you're doing is irresponsible and over all impossible!"

"Is it?" the shrewd man in the lab coat asks, "I created synthetic hearts didn't I?"

"Yes, but this is totally different!"

The scientist ignores his assistant and walks on, penciling equations and diagrams on a clipboard.

"Vexen!"

He turns back to her, grinning frightfully as his cold eyes flash, "I did what no one else has done: I created a heart. So it stands to reason that I can create an artificial brain too, and in doing so I will create what your pitiful race calls 'a soul'!"

His other assistant, the one more used to his bouts of mild insanity, eyes him oddly, " 'Your race' Sir?"

Vexen looks taken aback at the question, unsure for a moment, before turning around and rushing off to start his experiments, "My apologies, our race. I don't know what came over me."

* * *

The one that is sometimes called Lexaeus wipes the stray blood from his lips, gaze unchanging. He shakes the sweat out of his eyes and leaps forward to meet his opponent once more.

Many whisper about how the brawler doesn't feel pain. No matter how badly he is injured, even if he can barely stand, he keeps on fighting with the same level gaze. He keeps on winning, even if the odds are awful and there are more than three guys, and even if his opponent swears he broke both of the bulky man's wrists.

The brawler that goes by Lexaeus keeps on fighting, never speaking a word, because this is all just practice to him. Training. But for what he isn't sure yet. He just knows that it's coming, and when it does: he'll be ready.

* * *

"Zexion."

"Hmm?" the boy looks up from his book, peering over his glasses.

The librarian has her arms crossed, standing over him in a way that's supposed to be intimidating, but the boy can tell that she's scared. He can _smell_ it.

"What happened here?"

Zexion glances down at the unconscious boy on the ground, sprawled next to the table he is currently sitting at.

"He fell."

"You expect me to believe that?" she asks, one eyebrow cocked.

"Alright, so he was harassing me, and _then_ he fell."

"Zexion, do you take me for a fool? I know very well that that boy didn't simply trip and smash his own face in on the way down!"

Zexion smiles in a predatory way that makes her uneasy, tilting his head so blue hair slides in front of his face and shields one eye, "I never said he tripped."

She's lost all airs of bravery now, nodding as she backs away and leaves him in peace, mumbling something about calling the boy's parents.

The teen goes back to his book, but then frowns and slips his glasses off to inspect them. With out hesitation he snaps them in half, crushing the lenses until sparkling shards are falling to the ground.

Even though he's worn them his entire life, he suddenly wonders why he's been wearing them when he doesn't even need them. And now, thinking about it, he can't even remember when he got them.

* * *

Axel has a brother who's a year older than him –Reno. They look almost identical. They've spent almost every day of their life together. They even _sound_ alike.

And yet, despite these things…Axel doesn't _feel_ like he's related to Reno. He feels like they're best friends, but not brothers. And a couple of times, Reno has admitted to feeling the same way.

Time passes and Axel turns sixteen. He still doesn't feel like Reno's little brother; he still feels like they're only best friends (and maybe something even more). Even though they look almost exactly alike, even though they sound like the same person. But now, it doesn't seem like his parents are really his parents either. It feels like he's living with someone else's family, intruding on someone else's life.

He's sixteen and convinced that Reno and him are not related, and with these thoughts firmly rooted in his mind, he kisses his brother-who's-not-his-brother. He does this because along with this strange feeling that his family is not his anymore, he's starting to feel like he's fading out of the picture altogether.

* * *

Demyx laughs and slings his guitar case over his shoulder, "Sorry man, I'd like to, but I have to get home."

He waves off his friends and slides into his car, backing out of his space and out of the parking lot. But as he's driving home, he unconsciously turns in the opposite direction. And before he really thinks about what he's doing, he's standing with his toes pushed into the pale sand, the surf gently rolling around his ankles.

When he said 'home' he had been thinking of the two-story house he lived in with his parents; he'd thought of the tree next to the driveway, and the back yard with the old tire swing. But even still, he'd ended up here. For some reason he can't even begin to fathom, he ends up here, at the shore along the ocean, everyday. And no matter what he tells himself, the crashing waves feel more like home than that house ever will.

Day after day, it's always the same. He finds himself out here, wishing for some past life he can't even remember. And the longer he stands out here, the more it seems like the tide rushes in and retreats in sync with his heartbeat (a sound that he is much too aware of every moment of the day). The ocean and his heart seem to pulse as one, connecting him to some fragmented memory he isn't even sure is his.

* * *

Luxord wins as much as he loses. Sometimes –which is starting to be a lot of the time- luck leans in his direction, and he wins more…much more.

But none of that really matters. He's running out of time. He gambles to forget; indulging in liquor and women with a loaded smile and a carefree air. But none of that can truly mask the fact that time is running out. It only proves that he can run from it, but soon time will catch up to him. He doesn't know what will happen when it does, when the figurative hourglass runs empty. All he knows is that he is a pawn, and the master is time.

He gambles to forget, to hide, but when all the cards are laid down…time will be there to collect the winnings.

* * *

"Why do you talk to the plants?"

Marluxia doesn't look up at his coworker, the cute one with the name he can't always remember, "Because it is scientifically proven that plants grow better when talked to. I have no idea why." And it's not totally a lie, cause he really doesn't know…even if sometimes he feels like he should.

"Yeah, but the way you talk to them is like you expect an answer."

He ignores the claim, mostly because he honestly doesn't know how to respond to it. Sometimes he does think they should; can almost hear them as if channeling some faded memory. But they don't, and he doesn't know where he ever got the idea that they would.

Instead of dealing with a question he doesn't have the answer to, he turns to face him, grinning suggestively as he backs the other against the register counter. Planting a hand on either side of the younger man he leans in to breath against the reddening ear,

"Why don't you come home with me?"

The young man –who's in all reality nothing more than a boy in comparison— flushes darkly, most likely caught of guard by his sudden change in demeanor.

"Oh, don't be coy now," Marluxia purrs, chuckling low, "I've seen how you look at me."

The boy (why can't he remember his name? It shouldn't be all that hard) smiles shyly and nods, leaning in to his touch.

As they are leaving, Marluxia reaches out to a nearby shrub with out thinking, and for some strange reason he is surprised when it doesn't reach back.

* * *

Everyone knows of Larxene, but no one truly _knows _her.

She's the girl who hurts others and then laughs; the girl who delights in the misfortune of those around her. Most assume that it makes her feel better about herself, or that it gives her some sort of sick satisfaction. They think things like that, yet couldn't be more wrong. She doesn't do it because it feels good, she actually doesn't feel anything at all from it.

Because she has stopped feeling; she stopped feeling long ago. So long ago in fact…that she can't even remember when it happened.

* * *

Roxas smiles lazily as those familiar arms wrap around his waist from behind, as his boyfriend presses a kiss to the back of his neck.

But the moment he does so Roxas' eye snap open, a numbing sensation suddenly shooting through his nerves. He rips himself out the other's grasp, ignoring the worried questions, and takes off.

He doesn't know what's come over him, but all of the sudden his vision was replaced by a pair of eyes as blue as his own and a bright smile, the face completed by spiky brown hair.

He sees this mysterious doppelganger and suddenly he has stopped feeling. Clear thoughts are running through his head faster than he himself can run: _You don't love him, you never really have. You don't have the capacity to love. _

His chest feels tight, as if his heart is shrinking and folding in on itself. He falls to his knees with out realizing he has done so, hands gripping his hair painfully tight because all of the sudden _I can't feel. I'm not real. _


End file.
